


Last Word

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mostly Fluff, a touch of angst, what is your last word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you knew you were dying, what would you say? Who would you say it to? What would be your last word?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [for jinglebellfic for her birthday](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=for+jinglebellfic+for+her+birthday).



> Happy Birthday, jinglebellfic

John saw what was going to happen. He acted, before his mind could even think about the consequences. He hit Sherlock full force, so hard he heard the breath knocked out of the consulting detective. He felt rather than heard the shot: the blow hitting and spinning him around as he fell, falling face first into the cold, soft snow.

Sherlock is above him, rolling him onto his back. It is bad; John can see it in Sherlock’s eyes. Those beautiful eyes are full of fear. Nothing scares Sherlock Holmes. Nothing. Sherlock is pressing hard on him; it hurts for a moment then the pain fades. John can hear Sherlock shouting. Ordering. Commanding! The world empties of feeling, of sound, of everything and there is only John and Sherlock. There isn’t much time. John knows that. No time left.

“Don’t speak,” Sherlock's voice is choked and quavering, so un-Sherlock-like. “John. John. John!” You can hear the heartbreak in his tender tones.

“I,” John is focusing his life in his next words. “Love...” He whispers, hoping to god that Sherlock hears him. He never needed to say the words before they were always implied. There isn’t going to be any more time now. He needs to say the words once before he goes. He sees Sherlock trying to smile. He hopes he is smiling back. It is getting difficult to stay here anymore. The blackness eats him alive as he hears Sherlock scream.

(-_-)

The dimly lit room shows the approaching evening. Machines hiss and click in the hospital room, quantifying the precious life of Captain John Watson. Sitting at John’s bedside, his large hands encase a smaller, exceptional hand. Sherlock looks, really looks at the small, strong hand enclosed in his. How often this hand has touched him; brought healing and care, cajoled and comforted. John’s touch is like no other and Sherlock has taken that touch for granted. John has become a part of Sherlock’s life, the better part. He is always asking the right questions, protecting and providing a friendship that Sherlock has only ever trusted. Was it more than friendship? Love, he’d said the word as he lost consciousness. He’d whispered the word as he thought he was going to die. His last word. 

Weary, Sherlock lays his head on the bed next to John's hand and closes his tear stained eyes. Seeking the oblivion of sleep to forget that moment: the moment that held a precious life in the balance. John's life.

(-_-)

John gingerly pulls his hand from the slacken grasp and moves to fondle the soft, dark curls of the head nestled close by. 

Sherlock lifts his head and even in the dim light, John can see his total grief, his undying love.

“John.” Sherlock breathes the name like a prayer of thanks giving. His tear-swollen eyes, crinkled with elation at John’s resurgence to life.

“Hey, you.” John's voice holds layers of love that encompass Sherlock's heart.

It was evident that Sherlock wants to take John into his arms and hold him, but tubes and lines and medical paraphernalia cling to every part of John making it impossible. Instead, he leans over John and kissed the thin beatific lips of his soldier/doctor/lover. Sherlock's thoughts unravel. Shouldn't John be his lover? Why shouldn't he be? Sherlock's chaste kiss promises more love than John can imagine. Love that will linger for all time. Love that will deepen with each and every breath.

John wanted to stay, to talk, to love this genius-idiot of his, but the world wasn’t cooperating at all.

(-_-)

The next time he awoke, he was home, in Sherlock’s bedroom. John lay in Sherlock’s bed with only a few medical machines still evident. Mrs. Hudson, sat at his side knitting a scarf.

“John, dear, how are you feeling?” She smiled at his wakefulness and offered him water.

“Apparently like a very lucky man,” he said smiling back at her. “Where is Sherlock?” John couldn’t feel him in the flat. “Why am I not at hospital?”

“Dear he wouldn't hear of you being in that dreadful place anymore. Said you needed to be home and so here you are. Not to worry though, you are doing much better.”

“No one knows where he’s gotten himself to, John. Everyone is out looking for him.” She widens her eyes and rolls her head a bit.

“He’s gone looking for the bugger who shot me hasn’t he?” John huffed. Sherlock was rubbing off on John. He was getting better at this deducing thing all the time.

John shakes his head. “I assume I can self-ambulate since I’m not in a hospital bed? Please don’t tell me that you’ve been looking after me all by yourself, Mrs. H?”

“There are nurses here 24/7. Alan is doing the laundry right now and Nikki will be on this evening.”

“ Bit hungry. I think I can sit up and try something mild.”

“I’ve got some wonderful beef barley broth that I’ve made for you. How’s that sound?”

“Like homemade soup heaven.” John smiled as he tenderly sat up, letting his equilibrium settle.

(-_-)

That evening John woke with a start. There was a winter storm raging outside; the windows and roof were taking a pounding and Sherlock stood at the West facing windows, his back to John. His silhouette was stark and sharp.

“You found him didn't you?” John didn’t move from his bed, but waited to find out what was transpiring.

Sherlock turned and John could see that the rogue that had tried to kill Sherlock was no longer among the living.

“John,” Sherlock's voice was clipped and low. “You idiot. You will never endanger yourself ever again. Do you hear me?” He walked slowly forward as John drew his legs out of the blankets and placed his feet on the rugged floor. Even as he drew near, John could see the anger and tension fade from his body. Sherlock's body language is broken and faltering. He's breathing hard as he stands before John, his eyes glistening in the near dark, with a tenderness that spoke of a love threatened by near loss. He crumbles to his knees before John. Nestling between John’s legs. Gripping John’s forearms, he presses himself closer and closer.

“I could not bear to lose you, John. Not now, not ever.” His long reach embraced John with such reverence and unbridled relief. Feelings that John had buried inside himself for so long, emerged and blossomed in his heart.

“Listen, Sherlock, I’ll hang up my adrenaline hat and stop with the endangerment when you do and not before. Understand?”

John made as if to push Sherlock away just a faction so he could view his face, but Sherlock wouldn’t allow that.

“I thought I’d lost you, John. You said you loved me and you were gone. My world began and ended in a heartbeat and it was not to be bared, not a life without you.”

John loosened his left hand from Sherlock’s grip, caressing Sherlock’s face with soothing and well remembered strokes.

“I couldn’t leave you and not say the words. I couldn’t do that, Sherlock.”

“I’m glad you did, John. I’m really glad you did.” Sherlock brought his lips to John’s with a tender, lingering kiss that was a bit too rough for John in his condition and he winced in pain.

“John, sorry John,” Sherlock held John tenderly. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You meant every single atom of that kiss and I want more, but I, we will both have to wait before we go wild and crazy with the kissing, or anything else more strenuous. I’ll be better soon.” He reassured his consulting lover, as Sherlock fondled John’s fawn colored hair, he brought John to his heart where he belonged.

(-_-)

The Mind Palace was undergoing renovations. Where there had been a massive wing devoted to John Watson, now the central core, most of the main halls, the work rooms, well basically every inch of the unimaginably unimaginable palace was being hung, strung and decked out with all things John. John was the world, the world was John. Sherlock huffed proudly as he placed the finishing touches on his pet project. 

“Sherlock, love. Put your Mind Palace away and pay attention to me.”

“John.” The consulting detective blinked back to reality. His small smile turned radiantly wide.

“I'm deeply desirous of your most intense, highest quality and beta tested sex at this very moment.”

“Oh John, how did I ever live without you?” Sherlock giggled as he rolled into the waiting arms of his friend and consulting lover. The only one in the world devoted to Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
